From my cat, I catch contentment

 

Some strange grace arises
from the hand buried
in the soft fur of my cat’s
purring belly and spreads

up my arm to the rotator cuff again
torn and mending poorly, through
the hollow of my chest wherein beats
raggedly the perplexed heart,

down the depthless region of
fulfilled and disappointed desire, into
the tired legs on which I ran
through fading youth, to

the battered bunioned feet on
which still I stand, largely upright.

Some strange grace arises and
expands beyond the skin
I always knew — always knew —
was not there, and floods

my life backward with fidelity,
with something like happiness:
This was mine; this experience.
This was my life.

For a moment I want only
what I have, precisely
what has been, exactly
what will be.  I want only

this aging hand, buried deep in
the soft fur of my cat’s belly,
purring.

 

 

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Tags: aging, cats, contentment, creative writing, happiness, pets, poem, poetry